Malik sorts through the pillows, separating the salvageable from the ruined. His scent keeps spiking every time he glances at me, making sure I’m okay.
Cole arranges the dry pillows with surprising care, testing different configurations like he’s building something precious. And Jalen keeps one hand on my shoulder the entire time, like he can’t bear to completely break contact.
They move around each other in silence, yet completely in sync. Dax holds one corner of the fitted sheet while Malik gets the opposite. Cole passes pillows to Jalen without looking. Nobody speaks, but they don’t need to.
They’re a pack.
And they’re building my nest.
The thought makes something in my chest tighten. This is intimate in a way that goes beyond physical. They’re in my space, touching my nest materials, layering their scents into the fabric with every movement.
Making it better.
Making it theirs.
“The throw,” I say suddenly, my voice hoarse from crying. “Is it salvageable?”
Cole examines it carefully, then shakes his head. “Soaked.” He drapes it over the footboard, and I watch as steam actually rises from where it touches his skin. He’s that hot. They all are. Burning with rut just like I’m burning with heat. “I’ll grab a spare from the closet.” He moves to grab a soft, dry fleece throw.
Dax finishes tucking in the fresh sheets and steps back to assess. “Better?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
It is better. So much better. The nest looks inviting now, comfortable, butter-soft and smelling like clean linen and alpha.
But it’s also...empty.
The thought comes unbidden, and I can’t push it away this time. My omega is very clear about what she thinks is missing.
Them.
They should leave now. The window is fixed, the nest is rebuilt, and they’ve done more than enough. They should go back to their respective corners of the house and let me deal with my heat in peace.
But none of them moves.
Dax is staring at the nest like he wants to climb into it. Malik’s hands are clenched at his sides as if he’s fighting some urge. Cole has moved closer to my chair. And Jalen’s hand is back on my shoulder, his thumb stroking small circles that make my skin tingle.
“Thank you,” I manage. My lip trembles again, and I bite down on it. “For everything. You didn’t have to?—”
“Yes, we did,” Dax interrupts roughly. His forest green eyes lock on mine, and I can see the rut burning in them. “You were hurt. Crying. We heard you, and we had to—” He cuts himself off, jaw working. “We couldn’t not help.”
“Still,” I say softly. “Thank you.”
They should leave now. This is where they politely excuse themselves, and I pretend I’m fine alone.
But my omega has other ideas.
Before I can stop myself, before I can think it through or consider the consequences, the words tumble out.
“You could stay.” My voice is small, barely audible. “If you want.”
Four alphas freeze.
The silence stretches so long I think maybe they didn’t hear me. Maybe I can take it back and pretend I never said it and?—
“Sierra.” Cole’s voice is rough, strained, like the word cost him something. “What are you saying?”
I look up at them. All four of them are staring at me with identical expressions of shock and desperate hope and barely restrained need.
